Bad Habits
by CupcakeCamelCollaborations
Summary: For an organisation dedicated to keeping the world clean, MI6 was full of bad habits.
1. Q

**A/N: Welcome to the first magical fanfiction by us. We're still finding our feet with the whole collaboration thing, so it's a tad short. Hope you enjoy! **

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It was only when a visiting official mentioned it, that the Quartermaster noticed Q Branch always had the scent of tea hanging in the air. He'd shrugged it off the first time it happened, and all the official got in response to his comment was a brief, witty retort.

The second time it happened was one of the rare days James Bond decided to grace the lowly minions of Q Branch with his presence, and inevitably he and Q had ended up in a verbal sparring match. Q knew to some degree that it was a test of his competence, so responded with a retort similar to the one he had thrown at the official. He pondered the source of the 'smell' briefly as Bond left the Branch, but his musings were cut short when an lasagna exploded in the corner and Q had to go and sort out the mess it had made.

This time (the third time, might he add) it was M who snappishly informed the Quartermaster that Q Branch smelled like Earl Grey. Despite having a clever comeback on the tip of his tongue, Q didn't feel like angering Mallory that day (mainly because it would've cost him his job) and so kept his mouth shut. However, with no exploding lasagnas to distract him, he had no choice but to ponder on the worryingly true words of his boss.

So it was only now that Q was forced to face the pile of used tea cups he had gathered from various spots in Q Branch (he had even found one tangled in the experimental grappling suspenders) as well as the unerring truth; he had a bad habit for drinking tea where he shouldn't.

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	2. Bond

A/N: Thanks to liz1967, Prosper-the-XVIII and Guest for the lovely reviews, as well as all of the people who favourited and followed us. We send you virtual hugs and cookies :) Sorry for the delay, but school life happened and our teachers unanimously decided to give us tons of coursework. Hope you enjoy! :D

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It was a given that whenever James Bond entered a foreign casino (or bar, or hotel, or some other equally expensive place criminal masterminds decided was good enough for them) his charm was turned up and carefully aimed at his latest mark. It was indisputably a female mark, and she would (indisputably) end up in Bond's bed by the end of the evening.

He was not the one for any sort of sentiment and definitely not love (in fact, he abhorred the word) and so even as the raven beauty beneath him clung onto his shoulders and whispered his name breathily in his ear, he remained quiet. And though his attention was focused on her (he did not quite remember her name), she was nothing to him but a temporary distraction.

The next morning when he had the information he needed from her (because he had done what he had done for Queen and Country, obviously) he disappeared to completely, ready to repeat the process in another casino or bar or hotel.

This particular casino was swarming with CIA (there were five agents; excessive in his opinion). With his target sighted hanging around the neck of a nameless businessman, he moved to the bar to get his customary martini.

"Here to sleep with another mark Bond?"

Felix Leiter was at his side all of a sudden, friendly expression on his face. For five minutes Bond was almost normal, talking jokingly to a trusted friend (or as close as he could get to one). The night went as usual; the woman was moaning in his bed by midnight and he left as soon as he had his hands on the data. But Leiter's comment had set him thinking, and nothing good ever came of James Bond thinking.

When another mission required him to sleep with a woman in order to obtain information, he found himself in the curious position of hesitating. The very word felt foreign on his tongue; he never hesitated. Not to kill, not to torture, and certainly not to have sex. And so, with another shot of his favourite drink, he flashed his trademark smile at the target. Her heavier breathing and slight pupil dilation told him his abilities have not decreased in any way, shape or form.

Then again, why would they?

His eyebrow twitched in frustration. He was definitely thinking too much.

On a rare occasion he was in London and actually in a bar because he wanted to be and not because M had told him to, the familiar routine of singling out a woman to take home for the night started; one who a) wouldn't be _completely _drunk and b) who wouldn't be too easy, but also not too prudish for a one night stand. He found himself hesitating again, almost as if his conscience had decided to point out this may be seen by some as immoral. It merely took another glass of a decent scotch to banish this into the lost corners of his mind again, before he pursued the brunette in the corner with renewed determination and characteristic charisma.

He found she was a little more satisfying than his usual women.

To his slight annoyance, he found himself hesitating before any new pursuit. And always, determined to prove himself wrong, he tipped back the glass (of some drink; it hardly mattered) and carried out his plan. It was an inconvenience, this whole new 'thinking before you act' thing, so he made a conservative effort to dive straight into whatever it was he was doing and damning the consequences. The trouble was in those cases the thinking usually came afterwards when he was alone in his dark apartment in London. And it was only during this thinking that he admitted this to himself; he had a bad habit of screwing women over.


	3. Q Branch Bad Habits

**A/N: I know what you're all thinking...****_whoa, they updated. _****Well, not that many of you read this REALLY so I guess it kind of doesn't matter. But it does. BECAUSE WE LOVE YOU IF YOU DO READ THIS! SO FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO CARE, WE ARE TERRIBLY, EXTREMELY SORRY FOR TAKING TWELVE YEARS TO POST THIS! **

**Disclaimer: ليست لنا ****- yes, it's in Arabic. Google translate claims it says 'that is not ours'. If you speak Arabic, feel free to correct us!**

**Btw, if anyone gets the 'twelve year' reference, we'll dedicate the next chappy to you!**

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Q Branch had once been described (only God knew by whom) as the backbone of MI6. This had become a point of pride for the Q Branch craftsmen and women (no one knew who had named them that either), who worked diligently to keep the SIS running smoothly, securing the data bases and supplying agents with gadgets. They were looked upon with silent admiration by the rest of MI6 and the new Quartermaster was pleased to be heading them.  
But not having worked with them for very long previously, he really had no idea what he was in for.

It had all started with the newly employed techie, Andrea Sayers. Her qualifications were flawless; perfect high school results, Cambridge graduate - all that jazz which never _really _impressed Q (because he was kind of a genius) and, in fact, kind of bored him. Nevertheless, despite his general lack of approval, he disapproved of the other candidates even more; and so Andrea Sayers found herself programming a new trial application meant to help newbie agents out in the field with Q watching her every step like a hawk; just in case she made a mistake.

Her bubbly personality and overly optimistic nature nearly cost her her job a few times during that project. And as Q walked into her small office, data stick it hand, his eyes widened and then closed in a silent prayer for patience. No use; this time he was throwing her arse out of MI6, making sure along the way that she would be an unemployed reject forever.

She was singing the llama song.  
Or at least, that was what Q called it to himself, as it consisted mainly of the word 'llama' and other words thrown in. He stood behind her for a few seconds, torn between amusement and worry as she typed in time to the song.

"Miss Sayers what on Earth are you doing?" She swivelled in her chair and looked at him innocently,

"What you told me to, sir." Q took a soothing breath, thrust the data into her hand and strode out of the office to get a cup of Earl Grey. A cheerful chorus of _"here's a llama, there's a llama, and another little llama'' _followed him until he was out of earshot.

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